


Cascading Rivulets With A Scent Like Death

by orphan_account



Series: Intricacy [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Permanent Injury, This is something I've been wanting to post for a long time ohell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Eridan Ampora, and within the span of a few moments, and the smallest, barest conversation of a few key words, you have just learned that you have been discharged from the US Marines on the pretense of crippling injury. (Humanstuck, part of the Intricacy AU. Set about 20 years after the current timeline.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cascading Rivulets With A Scent Like Death

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey guess what this is! well if you follow the [intricacy ask blog](http://askintricacy.tumblr.com/) then you might know!!  
> of course im not expecting that to be many of you so its totally cool
> 
> yeah this is an au thing between my friend valen and i  
> and im just  
> feels everywhere

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and frankly, you are miserable.

So miserable, in fact, that you feel as though you'd be better off dead, instead of coming to in a room which immediately fills your oddly violated nostrils with the stench of medicine and a scent that, if you had not served in the military (been a Marine, and watched people fall around you in shapes of cascading rivulets and shades of the richest, most terrible sanguine) you would not even recognize that it was something a lot like death. You cringe, softly, making a sound of dissent through a cracky, dry, and unused throat, and the action only makes you wince more. You shuffle, momentarily, trying to move, but find it alarming--that is, the heady feeling that takes over you, and forces you to lay back. You find yourself nothing but horrified as you find your limbs failing to cooperate, a strange numb feeling overcoming you, and everything is a blur of colors for several moments as you try to remember what had happened--

"Calm down." The voice cuts through your panic, and you make another noice, eyes now squeezed tight. "Breathe. Just breathe."

You inhale - finding the intrusion in aforementioned nostrils being cannula, things you've _always_ hated - and you give a hazy blink to clear the surroundings. A figure stands over you and you swallow dryly as you try to descern who it is. You open your mouth, once, twice, trying to speak, but your throat feels so dry. A hand comes behind your head, deft, gangly thin fingers (you vaguely recognize them but its hard, so hard to remember when your head is swimming with a strange apathy and numbness that frightens you) that thread through tufts of hair that you don't remember having. Your memories are still hazy but you vaguely remember still being overseas. You still remember being in war.

"Thtay thtill. You don't want to rip your thtitche'th out."

Though your throat tightens and you're desperate to say something, feeling a swelling joy at finally being face to face with the one person who mattered most to you--who kept you alive and sane and together--you are interrupted from your internal reverie at the placement of a bottle against your lips. Dry, parched, sandy lips; the worst kind of lips, you think, but you're simply distracted by the cool rush of water that has you searching for more. He takes the bottle away before you're sure you're good to go, but you suppose that right now, with you unable to think even remotely properly, that its for the better. You shudder, a little, settling back against the fabric (he makes sure to set you down, gently, and you're confused, because why is he treating you like China, you are a commissioned officer and can take not being set down like a child) and try to speak again; the feeling of exhaustion that overtakes you keeps you from it, and so you stare through your haze at his barely discernable features, a thousand questions running through your head.

You want to say something. You want to say anything. You don't want to say anything at all.

"S-Sol-? Wh-- But- I was back-- Owerseas- w-what are you doin' here-?"

You find yourself trailing off, brow furrowing as you try to say more, but your throat still hurts and with the way he's stroking your brow, you're not left much room to argue or try to fight the drowsiness closing in.

The world fades away as you lose awareness.

* * *

For a moment you think you're dead. It feels numb and there's a strange ringing in your ears. You want to move, but your limbs feel heavy, as though laden with the densest material existing, and so you remain, laying there, unsure  _how_ you are laying, or why. You're trapped in a daze, and your vision breaks, momentarily, and you see shards of broken glass and red, seeping through the cracks of the desert streets. Your hearing starts to clear, and you can hear screams. But none of that is more important than the blinding agony around your midsection, feeling warmer than normal.

You're facedown in the middle of a street, almost melting in the Middle Eastern sun, and it occurs to you that you might actually, legitimately be dying.

You wonder if thats what the bitter taste on your tongue is, in little burning flecks that make you want to grimace, but can do nothing to truly move you. You wonder if thats what the excruciating smell is, curling down your throat with a rancid blood-curdling aftertaste, leaving you wishing that your tongue could shrivel under the acidic undertones. For a moment, you see blurry figures out of the corner of your eyes, when sight has failed you, fled at the bright flash that had had you shoving two of your men out of the way, shouting something that you can barely remember, and you try to speak.

"...jured! He's injured! We ne..."

You stop paying attention, rasping as the puddle continues to grow, stretching in wild, intricate patterns.

"Eridan-"

Your eyes move to see someone, whom you'd by then forgiven, whom by then you considered a friend again (not like you had ever stopped considering him friend), whom by then you trusted with your life on the battlefield.

"G-Gam-"

You can barely make out the grimace contorting his face. You cough, weakly, trying to suckle in some more air. You're numb from the waist down and all you can really register is the pain. You don't even have the breath to scream.

"Why'd you do it?" His voice sounds distant, and small, as a hand wipes sweat from your brow, as your vision grows hazier, and as it becomes harder and harder to breathe. All you can manage is a weak, bitter smile, managing a laugh before coughing. You don't notice the way he stiffens, don't notice the red blots that you coughed out. Everything feels hazy and far away now.

"Would'we newer forgiwen m'self if you'd died."

* * *

Your eyes open, wide and again you're met with the stark white of your least favorite place in the world. Your heart thumps in your chest and your breath is uneven, unsteady, but the sight of a black-haired mess sprawled half on your chest has you calming down. He lifts his head, glasses skewed, drool sticky and plastered against his chin (it was kind of cute in its own unappealing way) and he rose a hand to wipe his mouth, blinking disorientedly.

"... Are you awake for real now, ED?"

You try to focus, but your eye-sight was never the example of perfection--and the painkillers that are running through your system are no doubt not helping. You rasp, a single word, and then he's holding onto you, hugging you tightly, and you're not sure how to respond. You stutter a few phrases, looking at him and feeling definitely bewildered and lost. You're utterly confused and the pounding in your head doesn't help you.

"S-Sol? Wha's goin' on?"

The tight-lipped grimace that he wears on his face, the weariness in which he sits with give off the worst feeling for you. You feel as though something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"Sol...?" You trail off. You don't really know what to say--after all, you have no idea how extensive the injury is, and you don't know how long you've been in your white-draped personal hell without even knowing it. The red and blue of his button-up shirt are a relief from the colorless, bitter pastey cream curtains - they remind you almost painfully of the lifeless wasteland in which you spent months at a time when on active duty. You feel strangely thirsty again.

"Thometime'th you woke up. Thcreaming." His voice dropped. "... Thometime'th you woke up and you were barely luthid."

You're bewildered again and you guess it shows on your face; he waves his hands uselessly, helpless to placate you, helpless to do much of anything, really.  "It'th not bad, okay? You've jutht been-" And he cuts off, unsure of how to word it, biting at his lip unsurely. "... Really out of it. Do you even remember the converthation we had?"

"The one with few words, or somethin' I don't fuckin' remember."

He pulls himself out of the chair, wincing slightly; you feel sympathetic, and you would share your bed with him if you werent tethered to an IV. Well. A multitude of IVs. Not much else you can do, though, as he turns to the bedside table. You merely stare, befuddled, at the sight of cards from people you barely talked to anymore, flowers and presents and a couple pictures which look as though they were drawn by Mituna. You smile despite the numbed pain from your abdomen. Sollux also smiles, a little, a slight twitch of the lips and nothing more. He seems somber about something, but you aren't sure if you want to know of what, yet.

"... ED, I can't jutht hide it from you. You detherve to know, if you can't remember." He fumbles with his words again, face flushing slightly with frustration as the words refuse to come properly. "I mean- Fuck- Well- I told you. Like, the firtht time you thpontaneouthly woke up, but you don't remember. Then I kept trying to avoid it. I guethh that I'm telling you for the firtht time then."

 

 

You wish he never said anything.

* * *

 

_"You got blown up or thomething. Fuck, I don't know. All I remember wath being thcared ath fuck and thtuff. The fucking paperwork, the phonecallth. You have no idea how thcared I wath, ED, you fucking moron._ _That doethn't matter now. I hate being the one to tell you but CN ith thtill out doing god knowth what. The doctorth don't think you'll ever walk again."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the first time i post anything here ;~; i  
> hope its ok u u;;;


End file.
